


Unlocked

by Neyiea



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, never-sprayed Jeremiah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: Companion pieces toLockdown
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 67
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I get ready to write more of what I shall refer to as 'canon-typical works' I think it would be nice if I had a little side-project to occasionally dabble in the soft, sweet things that these characters deserve. I have a few ideas for stuff I'd like to cover, but if you're really dying to see something in particular let me know. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend who would kill for Bruce Wayne and a friend who would kill for Jeremiah Valeska meet each other in the wake of an attempted home invasion. They stand guard to fend off any lingering Maniax, they size each other up, they mention—calculated in their own way—how stupidly in love one friend is with the other.
> 
> They hit it off.

Ecco might live in the outside world—might be exposed to people far more often than Jeremiah, might be comfortable with handling the perils that came not only with her occupation but with the reality of living in a city like Gotham—but that didn’t mean that she was the social butterfly in counter to Jeremiah’s recluse. She had her job, and she enjoyed it, and there was very little reason for her to go out of her way to make deep connections with people who she could never be completely honest with about what she did for a living. 

Acquaintances she had by the dozen.

Friends, not so much. Jeremiah was one, and she’s allowed her guard down around Bruce enough times that she believes that they’re on friendly terms, but that was really it.

She didn’t particularly mind, but maybe since Jeremiah was opening up to a degree that Ecco had never considered might actually happen—and since his very existence was no longer a secret that she would faithfully keep until she had taken her last breath—she could start making a few connections, too.

And who better to get acquainted with than a girl who had dragged one of Jerome’s Maniax, kicking and screaming, to the police vans that still lined the road leading to Jeremiah’s hideaway?

Selina Kyle, she thinks to herself. Because protecting Jeremiah meant knowing all about Jeremiah, and knowing all about Jeremiah meant learning about Bruce, and learning about Bruce had been simple enough because he tended to answer her questions with a certain level of consideration which meant that he was wholly aware that Ecco was digging not out of idle curiosity or niceties, but out of a need to be prepared for all manner of terrible things.

He was very obliging whenever they crossed paths, and he made Jeremiah happy. Those two things alone were enough for Ecco to like him. 

She thinks that she could like the people that he trusted, too. Bruce liked Jeremiah, after all, which Ecco chose to believe made him an excellent judge of character. 

She looks at the girl—a young woman, really. She must have been around the same age as Bruce—speaking to a rather exasperated looking Detective Gordon a few paces away. Curly haired and keen eyed, holding herself with the brazen confidence of one who had survived too much hardship for someone her age, and she thinks that it makes sense that Bruce would be friends with her.

Ecco keeps an eye on her, even as she goes about the task of getting into contact with the bunker’s former head of construction.

And she’s watched back. Selina speaks on a phone—which she’d shamelessly stolen right out of Detective Gordon’s pocket—and though she is obviously not letting her attention drift too far from the conversation it is clear that she can feel the weight of Ecco’s gaze on her, and anyone who knew anything about reading body language would be able to tell that she was on edge.

Not that Ecco can blame her. She’s not entirely composed herself.

What kind of friend would she be if she didn’t worry about the people she cared for being in danger?

They lock eyes. They hang up. 

Introductions are clearly in order.

Ecco strides forward and holds out a hand before Selina has the chance to dart away.

“Ecco,” she offers, “Jeremiah’s proxy.”

Selina eyes her hand with a small amount of suspicion, but she does eventually take it for a very brief handshake. 

“Selina,” she responds as she withdraws, “Bruce’s friend.”

“I thought most of Jerome’s followers had either been caught or fled the scene by now,” Ecco says, as if just making simple conversation. “The last two that I dragged back were quite adamant that no one else was out there.” Not that anyone had particularly believed them. Gordon had already set up teams to watch the doors to the bunker overnight on the likely chance that more than a few of Jerome’s followers had managed to slip away during the chaos of their last stand. 

Selina narrows her eyes at her. She’s sizing Ecco up just as much as Ecco’s been sizing her up.

It makes sense, she supposes. They were both the close friends of people who were stalked by trouble and danger. Case and point; the current situation. Best to keep their guard up lest the people who they counted as their friends suffered due to their negligence. 

“I was a bit late getting here,” Selina says, as if in explanation, “so I guess it was just luck that I happened to cross paths with that freak out in the woods.” 

Luck. Right.

“Was it luck that you managed to take down a man who was twice your size?”

“No.” Selina smiles, and it is a sharp and dangerous thing. “I’m pretty handy with a whip. A friend of mine taught me how to use it a while back. People don’t put up much of a fight after you’ve cut off their air supply for a minute or two. Was it luck that you managed to take down two of Jerome’s goons?”

“No.” Ecco doesn’t smile but she does feel herself shifting, posture straightening and stance widening. “I’m pretty handy with my bare hands.”

Selina snorts, and the vicious edge to her smile melts as she crosses her arms. The look that she sends Ecco’s way is more curious than anything else, and Ecco feels herself begin to relax a little. 

“Jeremiah’s proxy, huh,” she murmurs. “So you must have some idea what’s going on in his head, right? You guys have got to be at least a little close.”

“We’re friends,” Ecco states firmly. “We have been for years.”

Maybe even for as long as Bruce and Selina had been friends. 

“Great. I’m about to ask you something, and I really hope you’re not caught off guard by it. So,” she takes a deep breath, “Bruce, he totally has a chance, right?”

“A chance?” Ecco feels the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Yeah, with Jeremiah,” Selina drawls as if she’s internally tacking on a, ‘duh, obviously’. “I only know what Bruce tells me, and Bruce tries not to look into things too deeply because he’s used to stuff going sour, but the guy is totally head over heels for him, right?”

Finally, someone else understood just how obvious those two were, and Selina had never even been around to see the glances that Bruce and Jeremiah tended to throw at each other; all tender and affectionate like some sort of romance movie in real life. 

“You have no idea how head over heels he is.”

Selina is still for a moment, as if Ecco’s bluntness had not been what she’d expected, and then with a great, heaving sigh she says,

“Thank fuck. If you’d said no I’d feel really bad about the advice I just gave Bruce to forgo his truly glacial pace and just make out with the guy already.”

A chuckle bubbles up in Ecco’s throat, and she can’t quite keep it back.

“One of them will have to make a move eventually,” she says agreeably, “and at this point I have no idea who it will be. They’re both pining, but they’re so careful with each other. It’s sweet.” Ecco’s eyes dart away briefly, over to where Gordon is patting himself down. “You may want to return that phone you lifted before the owner comes looking for you. Afterwards, though, perhaps we could talk a little more? I’m curious about what Bruce has been saying to you in regard to Jeremiah.” 

Selina tilts her head in consideration. “I suppose I have time for a bit of gossip. I was planning to stick around all night, just in case, you know?”

“Same here.”

Selina smiles, and Ecco finds herself smiling back. 

She thinks they’re going to get along quite nicely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was easy, becoming friends with him.
> 
> It was almost just as easy to start liking him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to do a little something from Bruce's pov before eventually tackling Jeremiah's first visit to Wayne Manor.

It was not often that Bruce had the chance to make friends, and it seemed like even less often that the ones who he’d become attached to entered into his life without any sort of ulterior motive. His life was too strange, nowadays—not to mention too fraught with danger—for him to make connections easily. He sometimes had the unhappy thought that just existing near him made people more prone to becoming targeted by dark and terrible things, and that made him even warier of getting close to new people.

Jeremiah, though, was an anomaly. Obviously brilliant and obviously mistrustful, not that Bruce could really find it within himself to blame him for it, but Bruce was not the reason why Jeremiah was being targeted. Bruce was not the reason why he had been found after years of hiding. It would have happened whether Bruce had been dragged into the situation or not. It was happenstance that Jerome had decided to focus his attention on them at the same time and ordered them both to be brought to him. 

Lambs to the slaughter, indeed.

But despite his unmistakable and understandable reservations about the entire ordeal Jeremiah had come out of his self-imposed isolation to face Jerome and he—just like Bruce—had become caught up in plans which always seemed to be more expansive than the police ever wanted to give Jerome credit for.

But they had both come out of it alive, and Bruce had wanted…

Wanted to stay in the orbit of someone who had so much potential for doing good that Bruce was left nearly breathless by it. Wanted to offer him the support that he needed to make his ideas into a reality so that all of Gotham could benefit from his expertise. Wanted to keep one nice thing for himself after his life had been threatened during a live broadcast—again—on the day that he’d turned eighteen, no less.

Wanted a friend.

And by the time Jeremiah had graciously extended the invitation for Bruce to help him with his work in whatever way he could Bruce was certain that they could be friends.

It was easy, becoming friends with him.

It was almost just as easy to start liking him. 

Jeremiah was magnetic—clever and focused and effortlessly engaging when he spoke of the things that he was the most passionate about—and watching him work so devotedly on something that would bring so much positivity into a city that desperately needed good news every once in a while had been enough for Bruce to feel the first stirrings of a crush. Bruce would never jeopardize their friendship, though, not for the entire world, and he was so happy with the camaraderie that had sparked and flourished between them that he’d had no need for anything more.

Not that that stopped his feelings from evolving. Still, he cherished their friendship just as much as some people cherished their romantic partnerships, and even if his heart occasionally fluttered wildly in his chest he’d thought that he kept those feelings quite admirably under control—because he’d hate to do or say anything that might make Jeremiah uncomfortable. That might make Jeremiah turn him away. That might make Jeremiah want to stop being friends. 

He didn’t think he would handle it with any amount of grace if once they were done working together on the generators Jeremiah slipped out of his life like water slipping through his fingers. 

They could do so much good together. They would do so much good together. The generators were only the first phase of what their partnership could bring about and working with Jeremiah filled Bruce with hope. Hope for the future. Hope for his city. Hope for the entire world. There were good people in Gotham, and he was working with one of them, and it left Bruce feeling more optimistic than he had in a long, long time.

And there were moments—brief flickers where the air around them seemed charged as if they were on the verge of getting caught up in a storm—where he thought that maybe…

Maybe…

Maybe if he gave in to the urge to ask Jeremiah if it would be alright to kiss him Jeremiah wouldn’t push him away.

But Bruce was cautious, perhaps even overly so. He couldn’t afford to take chances and he was determined to take things one very meticulous step at a time lest he overwhelm Jeremiah, who had until very recently only communicated directly with one person for years and was otherwise left completely alone. He thought he was doing quite well, too. 

Then, because trouble relentlessly stalked after Bruce wherever he went, Jerome’s Maniax followed them to Jeremiah’s bunker on the afternoon following the announcement of their clean energy initiative. An attempted home invasion which could have gone terribly wrong had ended because Jeremiah—brilliant, methodical, undeniably paranoid Jeremiah—had put security measures in place years ago on the off chance that something like this might happen. 

And the rest, as they say, was history. 

A history that was very, very dear to him. 

x-x-x

Bruce has been smiling the entire car ride home which Alfred has undoubtedly noticed considering the looks that he’s been sending Bruce from the corner of his eye; somewhat amused but genuinely happy. It’s almost enough to make Bruce blush, but thankfully Alfred’s subdued manner doesn’t provide any sort of tipping point, not at all like Selina, who’d elbowed him playfully and told him she had no idea that he would actually take her advice from the night previous. 

He had not, for the record. Not entirely, anyway. Not that telling her so would make her laugh at him any less.

The gated entrance to Wayne Manor comes into view and even though Jeremiah’s bunker was a marvel in and of itself—and even though Jeremiah’s presence there made it even more special—it was good to be home again.

Bruce can’t help but wonder—too used to things going wrong, too used to worst case scenarios becoming the situation that he had to deal with—what might have happened if he’d invited Jeremiah to Wayne Manor after their announcement. He hadn’t wanted to push because Jeremiah was taking such a big step already, but what if it had slipped out anyway? Things had gone so well; Jeremiah had smiled at him afterwards and Bruce’s mind kept tripping over how close they had been as he had tied Jeremiah’s tie, and the feeling of his fingers brushing against Jeremiah’s throat, and the shape and colour of his mouth, and how much he had wanted to lift up onto his toes in order to kiss him.

What if he’d asked Jeremiah to come home with him, and what if Jeremiah—just as swept up in the moment as Bruce was—agreed?

Would the Maniax have followed them all the way out here? What would have happened after they’d broken inside? Wayne Manor wasn’t meant to be a fortress. There was no way the security measures they did have in place would have stood up for more than a few minutes at most; long enough for a phone call to the police, but what about afterwards?

There would have been no coffee and cards, no soft conversation, no making dinner together. None of the things that had been so precious that Bruce treasured the memories as they were being made as dearly as he would treasure them in the future. 

There would have certainly been no kissing. Maybe there would have been some hand holding. The pair of them wrapped together in a shock-blanket once the police had diffused the situation. Two hands, white-knuckled with tension, holding onto each other for reassurance. It aches to think about—Bruce always wanted Jeremiah to feel safe and comfortable when he was with him—especially when what had actually happened was so wonderful and heartfelt and sweet, but Bruce cannot let himself forget the what-ifs.

The next time someone gets it in their head to seek out himself or Jeremiah by force they might not be so lucky as to already be locked inside of a place that Jeremiah had specifically designed to keep himself as safe as possible.

“I think it would be best if we started thinking about updating the Manor’s security,” he tells Alfred as the car comes to a smooth stop. He doesn’t add an explanation. He doesn’t have to. 

“Of course, Master B,” Alfred agrees. He probably would have suggested it even if Bruce hadn’t said anything. He adds, in a quieter tone, “it’s good to have you home again.”

“It’s good to be home, Alfred,” Bruce tells him. There had been a point yesterday, before he knew just how much effort that Jeremiah had put into preparing for his own worst-case scenarios, where he’d contemplated how long it might be until he could step through his own front door again. He’d even contemplated if—without Jerome to call the shots and command the otherwise uncontrollable masses who followed him. Without Jerome to put on a grand show of cat and mouse—the Maniax would bother with drawing out a kidnapping and a grand scheme, or if they’d just attempt to murder the ones who their beloved leader had once attached bomb-collars to in front of a live audience. 

He steps out of the car, phone already in hand. He and Jeremiah have only spoken on the phone a handful of times; their first two conversations seemed to set an unfortunate precedent for what their calls were meant to be like—uneasy and distressing—but they have better things to talk about, now.

Bruce can feel his cheeks start to heat up again. Alfred very kindly doesn’t react past a slight upwards twitch of his lips.

“I imagine you want to change into a fresh set of clothes,” Alfred says once they’ve stepped inside the foyer. “Once you’ve washed up I’ll put the kettle on for us both. Nothing like a spot of chamomile to calm the nerves.”

“My nerves are fine, Alfred.”

“I’m talking about mine,” Alfred responds, a touch too dry. Bruce leans against him and Alfred’s arms come up to wrap around him just as quickly as ever.

Bruce wonders if Alfred had slept at all last night, or if he’d been so keyed up that he’d ended up pulling an all-nighter like Selina.

Come to think of it, maybe he’d also been standing guard all night like Selina. It would not at all be a surprise if he’d camped outside of Jeremiah’s front door as well, as if daring any Maniax who hadn’t been dragged into police custody to try something.

Bruce is going to have to ask him about that. After.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes Alfred,” Bruce murmurs against his shoulder. “Jeremiah wanted me to call when I made it home safe.”

“A very reasonable request.” Alfred hugs him a little tighter before letting go. “Go and make your call. We’ll talk more over tea.”

Bruce nods in assent before making his way up the stairs, fingers immediately opening and scrolling through his list of contacts. His phone is already pressed to his ear, chiming, before he’s reached his bedroom.

His heart flutters pleasantly when there’s a soft click on the line.

“Hello Bruce,” Jeremiah greets. Even without seeing him Bruce can tell from the sound of his voice that he’s smiling.

He’s smiling because of Bruce.

Bruce feels warm and happy and so, so in love.

“Hello Miah,” he says, and he hopes that Jeremiah can tell that he’s smiling, too. “I made it home safe.”

A rush of air. A relieved sigh.

“Thank you,” Jeremiah says, and, “I love you.”

Bruce will never grow tired of hearing that.

He’ll never grow tired of saying it back, either.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah’s first visit to Wayne Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, looking at season 5 Jeremiah's dedication to dressing flashily and filling in his eyebrows: That is a man who wants to look _especially_ good for the love of his life. Nothing can change my mind.

He’s retied his tie, straightened his cufflinks, and has flipped back and forth between two different jackets enough times that even he’s starting to think he’s being more than a little preposterous. Bruce already finds him attractive. Bruce already has feelings for him. Bruce had smiled so nicely when they’d laid eyes upon each other again—not even a full day after they’d parted following their remarkable time together, though the visit had been woefully brief—and had trailed a finger over Jeremiah’s tie-pin, eyes dancing in a way that left Jeremiah feeling very-nearly hypnotized as he whispered how well he looked.

Jeremiah is just so eager to please him any way that he is able, and if dressing well is one of those ways then he wants to be sure that when Bruce looks at him he’s certain in the knowledge that Jeremiah wants to put in effort for him. It’s not as if he’s going that much above and beyond what he used to do, really—with no one around but Ecco to see him, no less—and he knows that it’s all the little things that Bruce did for him adding up which made him feel happy and warm and cared for. 

Stepping inside of Wayne Manor for the first time is important. Having dinner with Bruce in his home is important. They are special moments that are meant to be cherished and he wants to give them the attention to detail that they deserve. 

He maybe overthinks things, and he does feel a little ridiculous at the amount of time it takes him to finally settle on the wine-red jacket, but at least he’d started preparing early and no one had to know just how much time he had spent getting himself ready. 

He slips the jacket on, and just in time too, because Ecco calls to let him know she’s right outside the door.

Jeremiah’s heart flutters in his chest, the way it always does when he knows he’s about to see Bruce. There’s nothing quite like the anticipation of seeing and hearing him in-person, nothing as sweet as the longing to have him within arm’s reach again. He wants to hold his hand and interlock their fingers. He wants Bruce’s face tucked against his neck as they hug. He wants to kiss—

Goodness. He wants to kiss. Press his lips to fingertips and knuckles and wrists. Whisper promises against eyelids and cheeks and the crown of his head. Anywhere and everywhere, he wants to kiss. 

He’s restless the entire car ride to Wayne Manor, though Ecco very kindly doesn’t comment on it. Bruce has had a very busy week following the Maniax’s attempted break-in. Meetings and progress reports and much-repeated assurances that the generators were still ready to go live on the date that had been announced. That he’d made it over to Jeremiah’s bunker at all showed how dedicated he was. Bruce is so very good, and Jeremiah wants very much to deserve him.

And he wants to see if he can belong in Bruce’s space the way that Bruce belongs in his space.

Who would have ever guessed he’d be such a romantic at heart? Certainly not himself prior to Bruce’s arrival into his life. 

“Ecco,” he begins as an imposing gate comes into view, “should I have brought along a bottle of wine or something? You know social niceties are not my forte.”

“Jeremiah, please trust me when I tell you that I absolutely believe that Bruce would be perfectly happy if you showed up empty handed,” she says evenly. “But also; way ahead of you, boss.” Her eyes flit over in his direction. “Dessert is in the trunk.”

“What would I do without you Ecco?” Jeremiah asks fondly. “You always seem to be one step ahead.”

“I’m happy to be of service.” She glances at him again, a transient smile pulling at her lips. “Besides, I need to find something more to do now that you don’t technically need a proxy anymore.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re worried about your job security.”

“Of course not,” Ecco informs him smoothly as the car comes to a stop. “I was never just a proxy. Maybe in my contract, but in practice?” She puts the car in park, unbuckles her seatbelt, and turns to fully look at him. “We both know better.”

“Yes. Well, good.” Jeremiah folds his hands in his lap to keep from fussing over his clothing more than he already has. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Bruce’s invitation did extend to you as well.”

“I am aware.” She pops the trunk and opens the driver’s side door. “And it was very kind of him. Perhaps next time, but I believe it would be for the best if I gave you an opportunity for alone-time. You’ve been missing him.” She steps out and walks to the back, taking a white box out of the trunk. Once Jeremiah exits the car she pushes it into his waiting hands.

“You look great, boss.” She tells him with the hint of a smile on her mouth. “Say hello to Bruce for me. He’ll be giving you a ride home, correct?”

“I will.” He eyes her curiously. “And he is. Are you going somewhere?”

“I have a girl’s night,” Ecco tells him matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” He has no idea what that entails. “Have fun. And. Stay out of trouble?” He hazards. 

“I’ll try my very hardest, boss.” She reaches out to dust imaginary dirt off the lapels of his jacket. “Enjoy dinner, and dessert.” She pauses for a moment, thoughtful, before tacking on, “and Bruce.”

Were she any less of a serious person she might have winked suggestively. Jeremiah feels himself flush even without the additional insinuation, words catching in his throat as he wonders whether he should admonish her or not. 

“Ecco,” he finally manages to get out, sounding more than a little strangled. “It’s dinner. Mister Pennyworth is going to be there the entire time.” A surrogate father figure watching over them, making sure that Jeremiah was treating the person who he loved like a son properly. “I’m not going to pin him to a table and ravish him.” 

“You never know,” Ecco says with a shrug before stepping around Jeremiah, ignoring the abrupt flush of his cheeks and making her way back to the driver’s side of the car. “Mister Pennyworth might decide it’s best to give Bruce an opportunity for alone-time with you, too, since Bruce has probably been missing you just as much as you’ve been missing him.” She slips into the car and straps on her seatbelt, though she does roll down the passenger side window and lean towards him for one last bit of advice.

“Have fun,” she says.

Then she’s off, and Jeremiah steels his nerves and takes a moment to allow the heat in his face lessen before marching up the front steps and ringing the bell.

Jeremiah has survived Jerome, has survived his Maniax, has survived a whole slew of terrible and uncomfortable things. Alfred Pennyworth was not scary.

Not scary, he tells himself firmly. Not scary at all. The least intimidating butler in all of Gotham. Jeremiah has _seen_ what he’s like around Bruce; hugs and care and soft smiles. 

The door swings open. Alfred’s stern face comes into view.

Jeremiah has _seen_ what he’s like around Bruce, who may as well be Alfred’s son in everything but blood, who Jeremiah is now romantically attached to.

Not scary, he thinks a little weaker. 

“Mister Valeska,” Alfred greets formally, standing aside to give Jeremiah room to pass. “Good evening.”

“Good evening Mister Pennyworth,” he says, voice thankfully even. “I brought dessert.” He holds out the box, unspeakably grateful that Ecco was always looking out for him. He didn’t want to commit a social faux pas right out of the gate. 

Alfred doesn’t smile, but his neutral expression does lessen to become something slightly more familiar as he takes the box from Jeremiah. They’ve mostly seen each other in passing, and Jeremiah had always done his best in those fleeting moments to make a good impression on the man who was obviously so important to Bruce, but it feels different to interact with him now that he and Bruce are more than friends.

“Thank you, Mister Valeska,” Alfred says. Somewhere above their heads there is a dull thump, and this time Alfred does smile faintly. “I’ll go put this in the kitchen.”

There’s a light, rhythmic sound. Feet rushing across a floor. Jeremiah resists the urge to stare at the staircase.

“I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”

“Very good, sir. Please forgive me for not taking your jacket.”

“It’s quite alright, Mister Pennyworth.”

The rush of footsteps is coming closer.

“Alfred,” he insists before turning away. “All of Bruce’s friends call me Alfred.”

Jeremiah feels remarkably like he’s just jumped over a hurdle, and he hasn’t even been inside for a full minute yet. He’d take a few moments to revel in how well that interaction had gone, but his attention is swept away by swift movement beyond the bannister. 

Bruce’s hair is damp and charmingly untidy, as if he’d quickly toweled it dry, and that’s about all Jeremiah can really make out before his arms are full and that damp curly hair is brushing against his jaw.

Bruce’s hands interlock against the small of his back, and Jeremiah doesn’t resist the urge to wrap his arms around his shoulders.

“You’re early,” Bruce tells him. His lips brush against Jeremiah’s neck as he speaks. Jeremiah is suddenly very glad that Alfred vacated to the kitchen so quickly after inviting him inside. Maybe he had been expecting a welcome like this. “I thought you’d be another fifteen minutes.”

“Ecco wanted to make sure we didn’t get stuck in commuter traffic on the way over, so we left a little ahead of schedule. She says hello, by the way. She has other plans and couldn’t make it tonight.” He turns to press a kiss into Bruce’s hair. Bruce tucks his head against Jeremiah’s shoulder, arms squeezing a little tighter before he pulls back.

He’s smiling. And flushing. And he looks so happy that Jeremiah is here.

Jeremiah is happy, too. 

“You look really good,” Bruce tells him earnestly, fingers trailing over the lapels of his jacket. “Very handsome.”

“Thank you.” Jeremiah rests his hands over top of Bruce’s. He leans down for a quick kiss. “You look very handsome, too.”

Deep green is the colour of his sweater today, and the stark white of the pressed collar and cuffs of his undershirt give him an additional bit of class that is not at all surprising. Bruce wore black so well, but it was nice to see him branch out and try new things. 

He was putting in effort, too.

It makes Jeremiah’s knees feel a little weak.

“Here.” Bruce’s hands trail down his chest. “Let me take your jacket.” His deft fingers undo button after button. “Dinner isn’t for almost half an hour, so I’ll give you a little tour.”

“Alright,” Jeremiah agrees, only slightly breathless as Bruce’s hands reach up to his shoulders to start nudging the fabric down his arms. “I’d like that.”

He wants to see where Bruce grew up. He wants to see where Bruce spends his time. He wants to see if he can fit inside these precious spaces. 

Once his jacket has been dealt with Bruce takes him by the hand, leading him further into the main floor of the house.

There are many rooms that aren’t regularly used; throwbacks to a bygone era of lavish parties where the wealthy had seemingly needed separate rooms for so many little things—a music room, a sitting room, a drawing room—and Jeremiah would have hardly been surprised if there were an actual ballroom somewhere, considering the extensive square footage of the Manor. These rooms are charming, in their own way, offering glimpses into Bruce’s family history and upbringing. The music room in particular is where Bruce lingers, though he admits he doesn’t play. He opens the fall of the piano and his fingers briefly skim across pearly white keys, pressing down a few as if to ensure that it is still properly tuned. He speaks lowly of sitting in his mother’s lap as a child, of watching her hands make music.

There is sheet music laid out on the rack, and Bruce’s eyes flit over it with a wistful smile.

“She used to try and give me lessons,” he says as he gently closes the fall, keys hidden away once again. “I was never very good, though.”

The deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne happened long before Jeremiah had known Bruce personally, but his heart aches for him all the same.

“It’s difficult to lose them,” he says, empathetic. 

It was difficult to be the one left behind. It was difficult to see the aftermath of death—whether by a gunman in a dark alley or by a drop from the roof of a building onto a car far below. 

The loss was never truly forgotten.

Bruce nods, casting one final gaze around the room before leading Jeremiah onward. Even with his attachment to the memories in some of the rooms that he’s shown Jeremiah so far Jeremiah knows, somehow, that they are not where Bruce spends most of his time.

It’s when Jeremiah steps into the study that he knows where he does.

There is a comfortable atmosphere; the open windows letting in streams of natural light, the rich furnishings, the deep colour palette. There are rows upon rows of books that Jeremiah would love to trace his fingers along the spines of, would love to know which ones Bruce has read once, read twice. 

“This was my father’s office,” Bruce tells him lowly, fingers gripping just a little bit tighter as they step further into the room. “It’s mine, now.”

It suits him.

Jeremiah looks around and he doesn’t feel ridiculously out of place, he doesn’t feel like he’s an intruder who could never fit in.

Some of the lingering nervous energy within him settles.

Bruce pitches a glance to the side and Jeremiah follows his gaze to see a stately fireplace. He imagines it must bring even more warmth into the room, in all senses of the word. He thinks about what Bruce might look like in the flickering light of a fire.

He knows he’d like to see it, someday.

“It’s a lovely room,” Jeremiah tells him, and Bruce’s gaze turns back to him.

“Thank you. I haven’t made many changes over the years, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. This place was always special. My father—” His eyes dart to the fireplace again, just for a second. “—he used to lock himself in here, playing classical music for hours as he worked. It was the only place that was ever really off-limits to me at any time when I was growing up.” Bruce looks up at the clock. “I’ll show you around here more, next time,” he promises. 

Next time, next time.

“I’d like that,” Jeremiah tells him. “Will Alfred be expecting us shortly?”

“A gentleman is always early, if he can help it,” Bruce tells him, the traces of a smile lingering on his mouth. “Never enough to be discourteous, but enough to show attentiveness.”

“I see. What sort of timeframe does that work out to being, out of curiosity?”

Bruce’s smile widens.

“From first-hand experience I would say, depending on the activity, anywhere from half an hour to five minutes.”

“And if that activity is having dinner?”

“Sitting down directly on time is key,” Bruce says, leading him out of the study. “Though arriving a few minutes early to ensure that you are properly settled is a very civil move.” He pauses for a moment, looking up at Jeremiah from underneath his lashes. “No one would have minded if you ended up late because you’d gotten stuck in traffic, though.” He pointedly interlaces their fingers. “I’d wait for you, Miah.”

He’s so sweet.

“Bruce.” Jeremiah raises a free hand to rest against Bruce’s cheek, delighting in the way he leans into the touch. “When you say things like that, it’s very difficult not to kiss you.”

Bruce’s smile takes on a roguish quality.

“I’d wait for you, Miah,” he says again. “Because I love you.”

Jeremiah doesn’t resist the urge to lean toward him.

Bruce squeezes his hand and presses up against his mouth, and soon Jeremiah’s fingers are dragging into his now-dry curls. Bruce sighs happily against him, lips parting with the exhalation, and Jeremiah feels a familiar heat flare up inside of him. 

It’s been a week since they were able to kiss like this. Since they were able to kiss at all. 

“I love you, Bruce,” he murmurs against Bruce’s open mouth. His tongue darts out from between his teeth briefly, and he can feel Bruce shiver in response to it. “Can I?”

Bruce tilts his head, fingers squeezing harder, pressing closer, lips falling further apart. Jeremiah deepens the kiss and Bruce’s free hand winds around to settle firmly on the small of his back. They’re so close, Jeremiah loves it. Loves every second of it. Loves Bruce more than he thinks he could ever articulate. 

Bruce moans softly, and Jeremiah is pulled even deeper into him.

They barely make it to the kitchen on time for dinner, and Alfred sends a particularly knowing look Bruce’s way as they settle down beside each other. Jeremiah would feel somewhat embarrassed, but Bruce is holding his hand underneath the table, and he looks happy.

And that makes everything okay. 

He interlocks their fingers. He lifts Bruce’s hand up to his mouth to press his lips against his knuckles. He watches Bruce’s smile grow.

Better than okay, even. 

Perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a place I’d like to show you,” Bruce says, reflective gaze turned inward, “that I think you might enjoy. It’s—it’s a secret, and it is very dear to me. I found it a few years ago and only a few others know about it.”
> 
> “You trust me enough to take me there?”
> 
> “Of course I do.”
> 
> Lockdown, Chapter 10

Bruce pauses in the midst of hand-kneading dough. It’s been quiet in Gotham—at least since the evening where the Maniax attempted to break into Jeremiah’s bunker—and it fills Bruce with an anticipatory energy. A need to be prepared for whatever must be brewing—because something was always brewing in his city. While Alfred is more than happy to let him throw himself into the sorts of physical training that Bruce is sure is integral to becoming who he needs to be, he also pointedly gives Bruce other tasks that will help wear him out. 

Hence why Bruce is not using the stand-mixer this morning. 

Bruce doesn’t mind. He knows his body needs time to recover after he trains and—perhaps most importantly—pushing himself too hard for too long and letting his form get sloppy is a good way to get hurt, and if he gets hurt Jeremiah will _notice_ and Jeremiah will _worry._

Because even though Bruce has been open with Jeremiah about so, so many things he still has a few secrets. Big secrets.

He doesn’t want secrets between them.

“Alfred,” he ventures, and from the corner of his eye he can see Alfred pause in the midst of his own task of rolling out a sheet of dough that he’d filled with dollops of butter. “Do you think it’s too soon to show Jeremiah the doorway beyond the fireplace?”

Alfred doesn’t startle at the mention of Bruce revealing such a personal thing, because Alfred had known that Bruce was considering it even before he and Jeremiah had ended up locked inside the bunker together. Weeks ago Alfred had listened, serious and attentive, as Bruce fell into an explanation. 

Jeremiah was capable of doing so much good. Jeremiah _was_ doing so much good. Together they were bringing inexpensive green energy into Gotham which would help so many people. Together they would eventually do even more to bring hope and light into a city that desperately needed it.

How much hope and light could they bring if Bruce didn’t have to hide some of the most important aspects of his life?

Now that Bruce and Jeremiah are romantically attached, though, the things that he’s hidden feel even more weighted, with even more likelihood of blowing up in Bruce’s face. Bruce loves Jeremiah, and Jeremiah loves him back, but…

What if his secrets were just too much?

Alfred had made a comment about people living in glass houses not throwing stones when Bruce had mentioned his unease before; because Jeremiah obviously was not someone without secrets of his own. Bruce can’t help but believe his situation is different, though. 

Jeremiah was a recluse who’d once admitted—under great emotional upheaval while intoxicated—that he’d told lies about the brother who he’d spent so much effort trying to hide away from. 

Bruce was on the path to becoming a full-blown _vigilante._

“I think that, since you believe you can trust him, it’s alright to start telling and showing him some of the things that most people haven’t the foggiest about,” Alfred begins, and Bruce turns to fully look at him. “But there are many things that he doesn’t know.” Alfred sets down his rolling pin, wiping his hands on his apron as he steps towards him. 

“Take things one step at a time,” he suggests, reaching out to settle his hands along Bruce’s shoulders. “Let him know that there’s more and that you’re not trying to purposefully hide information from him, but that you want to take things slowly so that he can process it all. He’s not going to run away screaming just because of some of your stranger hobbies,” Alfred annunciates pointedly with a hint of a smile, “but if you tell him too much at once? It’s a lot, Bruce.”

“Yes,” Bruce sighs, “I know.” 

“Come on, now.” Alfred’s hands briefly tighten. “Chin up. No need to look so lovelorn. He’s a good man, your Jeremiah. I think he’ll understand.”

“He is good,” Bruce says, hushed. “He makes me really happy, Alfred.” 

“I know that he does.” Alfred pulls him a little closer, and Bruce can’t help but smile when he feels Alfred’s arms wrap around him. “And I’m glad that he does. You deserve someone who can make you smile, Bruce.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce hugs him back. “It means a lot to me.”

x-x-x

The day is cool but sunny; a rarity for Gotham whose overcast skies act as something like a trademark for the city. Bruce had invited Jeremiah out onto a patio as soon as he’d arrived at Wayne Manor so that they could enjoy the light of the afternoon together. They’d spent over an hour talking about the countdown to the generators going live, easting pastries, and holding each other’s hands on the table top. It had all been terribly romantic.

It had all been done directly in the sun. The occasional cool breeze made it more comfortable for them to sit in the light as opposed to the shade, an act that Jeremiah was unfortunately going to pay for. 

They’d gone inside once Bruce noticed the pink stretching across his nose and under his eyes, but it was already too late.

“Oh, Miah,” Bruce says as he lifts his hands up to gently settle upon Jeremiah’s cheeks. “If I had known you weren’t wearing any sunblock I would have given you some of mine.”

Jeremiah’s face, which is already hot and pink nearly everywhere, goes hotter and pinker.

“Sunblock isn’t something you have to think about when you live underground,” he says in his own defense. “Or sunhats, or sun anything. I wasn’t much of an outdoors-man even when I was in school, either.” 

He hasn’t had a sunburn since his childhood, long enough ago that he can barely even remember it. At least this time it’s only his face, not his entire upper body and everything from the knees down. 

“I must look like a lobster,” he tells Bruce, whose nose crinkles as if he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“Not at all,” Bruce assures him. “You look very… Rosy. Like you’re blushing, except all over.”

“Years underground,” Jeremiah murmurs, “and the first sunny day I encounter I get burnt. I fear this doesn’t bode well for me.”

Bruce gravitates into his space as if he means to kiss him, but he pauses just shy of hitting the mark.

“Are you hurting?” His breath washes over Jeremiah’s lips. His eyebrows are furrowed with concern. He’s so close that Jeremiah could count his eyelashes. He’s so close that Jeremiah can’t _not_ feel a desire to kiss him. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be so touchy right now.” He leans back and makes to pull his hands away, but Jeremiah quickly lays his own overtop to keep them anchored where they are.

“It’s not unbearable,” he says. What was a little bit of a sunburn compared to the joy of spending time with Bruce and being close to him? “Another lesson learnt. At least it isn’t summer, or I imagine this would have been ten times worse.”

Bruce’s thumbs graze pleasant little circles on his cheeks. “Would you like me to find some aloe for you?”

“Please.” And then, because he can, he adds, “and I’m not hurting enough that I’ll ache if you kiss me.”

Bruce flashes him a smile.

And he presses that smile against Jeremiah’s mouth. Very softly. A whisper of a touch. There and gone in the blink of an eye.

Jeremiah follows after him, and Bruce chuckles against his lips.

“Wait for me in the office? I’m sure we have aloe plants in the conservatory, so I shouldn’t be long.”

“Alright,” Jeremiah says. 

They part.

But not for long.

Ten minutes later, face wet with the inside of an aloe plant that Bruce had cautiously applied all over his burnt skin, Jeremiah watches—somewhat mystified and undeniably intrigued—as the hit of a simple switch moves the fireplace to reveal stairs leading down into darkness.

“Some parts of my life are very, very private,” Bruce tells him, voice soft. His fingers hesitantly brush against Jeremiah’s and Jeremiah doesn’t resist the urge to interlock their fingers. The tense line of Bruce’s shoulders relaxes at the action, and Jeremiah feels thrilled that he’s able to put a rest to some of his evident unease. “There are a lot of things that even you don’t know about me, but I’d like to start rectifying that,” he continues earnestly, fingers folding tightly around Jeremiah’s own. “As long as the secret door in my office hasn’t scared you off.”

“Nothing could scare me off,” Jeremiah promises. He squeezes Bruce’s fingers back, looks towards the heavily shadowed stairs, and says,

“Lead the way.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce shows Jeremiah the place that shall one day be known as the Batcave.

They descend.

Bruce hasn’t felt nervous about traversing this particular staircase since his and Alfred’s first foray into the darkness hidden behind the fireplace in his father’s office. It had seemed so surreal back then, even though he had been absolutely sure that his father must have had secrets. The idea of a hidden door had never crossed his mind—too much of a cartoon cliché to even think about—until the reality of it had been displayed right in front of his face. He’d been prepared for a barrage of questions from Jeremiah as soon as everything had slid into position and was laid bare, but so far Jeremiah seemed to be taking it all very well, if not very quietly. 

He’s glad. Bruce isn’t sure what he would do if the existence of what was really one of the _tamest_ of his secrets—and not really even his own secret, to begin with—was enough to start driving a wedge between them.

Jeremiah’s fingers squeeze his own as they reach the bottom of the stairs. It’s dim, but the doorway that Bruce and Alfred had once created an explosion to get through is still clearly visible.

And Jeremiah has seen what doorways look like in the aftermath of an explosion.

He doesn’t comment on it, but when Bruce glances up at him he can see his eyes taking stock of the warped metal of the frame and the lack of an actual door and likely putting two and two together. 

“From what information I’ve been able to gather,” Bruce says as they step past the doorframe and into the room beyond. He manages to sound calm, but in his chest his heart is starting to pick up speed. “My father used this as a place to research corruption, mostly from within the company. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted Gotham to be better than it was.” Bruce lets his free hand rest on top of the keyboard of the computer, thinking about the letter that he had found addressed to him, years ago. “He and my mother were already dead when I made my way down here for the first time.” 

And all the information that was at his fingertips wasn’t nearly as good as a conversation would have been. Bruce knows his father had assumed that he would discover the door one day—and had also wrongly assumed that Bruce would realize that his own name was the passcode to get inside—but sometimes he finds himself wondering how old he might have been before his father decided it was time to tell him anything if things with the Court hadn’t played out as they did.

Likely much older than he had actually been when he’d become entrenched in the shadows that permeated Gotham. 

“Just research?” 

The sound of Jeremiah’s voice is unmistakable. It grounds Bruce in the present and reality, and the past and what-ifs that so often filter into his head drift away.

“Not just research.” Bruce hazards a glance at Jeremiah’s face again, and sees his gaze is fixated on something beyond him. He turns and spies his inaptly named ‘rock climbing gear’. His heart starts beating faster. “In the interest of full disclosure, I don’t use this place just for research, either.”

Jeremiah’s hand starts to slip away from his, and Bruce feels something like panic sweep over him as he desperately tries to decide whether to let him go or hang on as tightly as possible. His fingers twitch, indecisive, and Jeremiah turns to look at him. His expression immediately gentles at whatever he must see on Bruce’s face.

“I just want to take a closer look,” he says evenly. His fingertips curl against Bruce’s own in a reassuring manner. “I’m not trying to leave.”

Air rushes out of Bruce’s lungs in a relieved sigh. He lets go of Jeremiah’s fingers and Jeremiah leans in to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I can’t—” Bruce’s voice cracks, and he fights the urge to hide his face behind his hands in embarrassment. He’d known how big of a step this was, and he’d expected to become more tightly wound because of it, but the mental preparations he’d gone through weren’t enough to stem the maelstrom of emotions that went hand-in-hand with revealing secrets to Jeremiah. It makes him wonder how all of the other revelations will go. “I can’t tell you everything all at once,” he admits apologetically. One of Jeremiah’s hands lifts, his palm settling against Bruce’s cheek, and he doesn’t resist the urge to lean into the touch.

“There’s so much, Jeremiah. I’ve been involved in things that I should have never been involved in since my childhood. I was too intent on getting answers to all of the questions that kept springing up after my parents were killed, and too stubborn to back down even when obstacle after obstacle were thrown into my path. Sometimes… All the time,” he corrects, somewhat reluctantly, “the obstacles just made me even more determined to know the truth.”

Knowing that people were hiding information from him or were trying to make his search for answers more difficult only ever made him want to dig deeper instead of giving up.

“That does sound exactly like you,” Jeremiah’s voice is faint, but there’s an unmistakable note of fondness in it that helps soothe many of Bruce’s lingering worries. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now. But you will tell me it all, eventually, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Bruce promises. “Eventually.” Someday Jeremiah would know as much about Bruce’s life as Bruce himself, but that was a goal meant to be slowly reached over months and months; because Bruce doesn’t think he can bear saying it all at once and he doesn’t think that Jeremiah could stand hearing it all at once.

There were many hardships in his life, his parents’ deaths were just the terrible beginning of it all. His mind whirrs with memories; Jerome, Theo Galavan and Silver St. Cloud, The Order of Saint Dumas, Jerome _again_ , The Court of Owls, The League of Shadows, Ra’s al Ghul. There are so many examples of his life spiraling, of outside forces doing their best to either kill or transform him, and so many of them are interconnected that he’s not entirely sure where to start, except for perhaps at the beginning.

But he’s not levelheaded enough at the moment to speak about the night his parents were murdered. 

He turns his head to press a kiss to Jeremiah’s palm. “If you have any questions right now,” he says, voice barely higher than a whisper, “I’ll do my best to answer them.”

“I can think of one.” Jeremiah’s gaze darts back to the gear that Lucius had given Bruce. “Are you safe?”

Safe? The safest that Bruce had been since the moment his childhood ended with gunshots had probably been when he and Jeremiah were locked inside of the bunker together, but he wisely decides not to bring that up. 

“I don’t recklessly throw myself into danger.” Anymore, he mentally adds, because he had certainly done a lot of that. “There was a time in my life where I walked on rooftops and fought crime.” He wishes he could sound either nonchalant or teasing, but his throat feels too dry and his tongue feels too weighted. “And there will be a time when I do it again,” he admits weakly. 

It’s my calling, he thinks, but he can’t find it within himself to say it out loud. Not yet, anyway. 

Jeremiah’s hand drops away, and Bruce watches him approach his gear with a small amount of trepidation—even though Jeremiah had assured him that he wasn’t going anywhere, Bruce always seemed to be preparing himself for worst-case scenarios. He couldn’t seem to help it.

He was too used to things going wrong.

“When we first met,” Jeremiah starts, fingers reaching out to graze along the nose bridge of a mask. Bruce wishes he could see the look on his face, but he feels strangely rooted to his spot beside the computer. “You spoke so eloquently about standing up to fear. You were so brave, so determined. It made me feel as though I could be brave, too.” Jeremiah’s posture shifts subtly; shoulders rolling back, standing taller. “It made me feel like I could go anywhere, as long as you were there with me.” Jeremiah turns, a resolute look settling across his features. “That’s why I came out of my bunker that day, not because of any reassurance from Detective Gordon or Mister Fox. It was because of you.”

“Miah.” Bruce might be rooted to the spot, but Jeremiah was under no such sway. He steps forward and Bruce watches him approach, heart fluttering.

“Because of you I stepped out of the darkness and into the light,” Jeremiah says, taking both of Bruce’s hands in his own. “Because of you my life has taken a turn I never would have even dreamed of,” he admits with a small, secretive smile that Bruce cannot help reciprocating. “Because of you I am happier than I ever could have been.” His lifts their hands, pressing kisses to Bruce’s knuckles. “I can tell that you’ve been worrying about this, so let me make one thing clear.”

Bruce tries not to let it be too obvious that he’s holding his breath.

“Just because you’ve had to keep secrets doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trusting you or loving you, Bruce. I’ve—I’ve kept plenty of secrets, too,” he finishes softly. “Not all of them noble, or merely out of the desire to protect myself. The person who’s closest to knowing the truth about those instances is you.”

_I lied about him when we were children,_ Bruce recalls. He hadn’t known what to say, not when Jeremiah had sounded so distraught. They hadn’t even known each other very well back then but it was obvious, even over their phone connection, that Jeremiah was hurting, and Bruce hated it when anyone was hurting. 

_You were a kid,_ Bruce had eventually responded, scared that saying nothing would only make everything worse.

_So was he._

“I’d like to think that I’m not wholly defined by secrets that I’ve kept since childhood, instead of by what I’ve accomplished afterwards,” Jeremiah tells him, and his eyes drift down to settle on their interlocked fingers. “They are a part of me, though. A part that I—that I don’t like, that I want to improve. When Jerome left me that package I think he wanted to make those darker parts of myself more prevalent—my pride and my lies, my cruelty and my apathy—he wanted that side of me to take over everything else. But it didn’t. I’ve been changing Bruce, but I’ve been changing for the better.”

Bruce squeezes his hands.

“You have. You’ve done so much good already.”

Light and hope and progress. Sometimes Bruce almost can’t believe how much things are going to change, even though he’s fully aware of what they’ve been working towards for the past five months.

“We, Bruce,” Jeremiah corrects with a smile. “We have, together. Please don’t think that you are solely defined by your secrets, or by the presence of them. If keeping secrets has kept you safer than you would have been otherwise, then I’m just as glad that you’ve kept them as I am glad that you feel comfortable beginning to share them with me.”

“I love you,” slips out, instinctive and raw.

“I love you too, Bruce, more than anything.”

Bruce presses his face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck, and Jeremiah lets go of his hands only so that his own can settle along the small of Bruce’s back.

“Let’s go back upstairs,” Jeremiah whispers into his ear. “This is enough for now. You’ve shown me the door just like you said you would Bruce, and it’s just as interesting as you said it would be.”

“You’re taking this all so well.” Not that Bruce is complaining. Perhaps he’s just far too used to things not going the way he would like them to. 

“Well, think of it this way.” Jeremiah presses a quick kiss to the shell of Bruce’s ear before he steps back. His face is nothing but earnest as he says,

“Ever since we first met I’ve thought that you were something like a hero. This just proves that I’ve been right all along, doesn’t it?”

And what can Bruce do in response to such a sweet thing, but lean up on his toes to kiss him again?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Sunday morning brunch before the first generators go live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eccoooooo. Welcome to the batfam, girl.

Tomorrow is a big day.

Ecco steps out of her car, staring up at the imposing grandeur of Wayne Manor. It won’t be the first time she’s been inside, but the air is thick with a suspense that makes her feel more on her guard than she had the first few times that she’d visited. 

Tomorrow the generators in The Narrows are going live. Considering what had happened the literal same day that the project had been announced a month ago Ecco thinks that she can be forgiven for expecting that something equally as terrible is going to end up happening.

Before or after, she doesn’t know, but she’s resolved to be prepared for anything.

Which is why she has a six-shooter strapped into a thigh holster under her sundress.

She marches up the front steps, feeling only slightly strange about the fact that Jeremiah is already inside. He occasionally spends nights here—Ecco has listened to him wax on adoringly about how nice it was to wake up next to the person that you love and has wondered, privately amused, whether or not she ought to slip a pack of condoms into his overnight bag the next time she drops by his bunker after a grocery run—which is almost as sweet as the way he’d had the contractor who’d come to fix his front door take a look at his kitchen in order to expand it into a space that two people could comfortably spend time in.

Honestly, Jeremiah is so in love, Ecco half expects that one small mention of literally anyone getting married would make his mind start spinning with ideas and possibilities. 

She rings the doorbell. The door swings open almost immediately, though it is not Alfred, or Jeremiah, or even Bruce behind it.

“Selina,” she greets with a small smile. “How are you?”

“I’m about as good as I can be,” she says. She shifts from one side to another, noticeably restless. Ecco completely understands why she might be on edge, though, so she doesn’t mention it as she steps inside. “How about you?”

“I’m ready for anything,” Ecco answers, eyes flitting around the house. She usually does a quick scan of every place she steps into out of habit, always wanting to be certain that nothing was out of the ordinary. Her gaze lingers even longer, now, instead of being a perfunctory sweep. 

Wayne Manor isn’t completely defenseless, and Ecco knows that Bruce has steadily been increasing his security measures, but still…

So many things could go wrong within these city limits. So many things have gone wrong. Ecco almost can’t believe that Gotham hasn’t been overrun by marital law.

“Do you suppose something might happen tomorrow?” Selina asks lowly as they walk further into the house. Her gaze is sharp. She’s just as ready to go on the offensive as Ecco is. “Have you heard something about whatever Maniax might be left?” She holds open a door to a room that Ecco hasn’t been in before; lots of windows showcasing the gardens, fresh flowers likely taken from the grounds, a nicely set table—a perfect space to entertain a small group of guests. 

Ecco might have appreciated it more if she weren’t so sure that somewhere behind the scenes a vile person was likely plotting vile things. Things that had to do with harming people that she cared about. 

“Most of them are locked away,” Ecco tells her as she walks forward, seating herself at the table. Selina slips into the chair next to her. “And honestly Jerome’s followers aren’t the only ones who I worry about ruining tomorrow.”

Protecting Jeremiah meant protecting Bruce, she had decided. There were a lot of unknowns with Bruce, but one thing was certain; Bruce Wayne made quite a desirable target for the low lives of Gotham. Young, rich, not to mention a very public figure. Ecco’s not sure how many times he’d been kidnapped or hurt, but she knows that Jerome and his followers weren’t the only ones to do such things. It makes her feel defensive in a way she never thought she’d feel for anyone except for Jeremiah.

Maybe that’s what friendships were usually like. 

“Yeah,” Selina sighs. “Those two are trouble magnets. It’s like it’s too much to ask for Bruce to have one nice thing without something else falling to pieces around him.”

Ecco notices movement behind Selina and she gives her a somewhat pointed look. Selina raises an eyebrow before glancing back, then she snorts.

“Don’t worry. Alfred is more than aware of the trouble that follows Bruce wherever he goes,” she says dryly without bothering to lower her voice. Alfred, who’d been approaching with a crystal carafe of water, pauses for only a moment before he starts pouring it into their glasses.

“It’s not always the trouble that follows him that I worry about,” Alfred tells Selina with a wry sort of smile. “It’s the trouble that he tracks down on his own.” He sets the carafe down. “If I weren’t already grey his habit of throwing himself into danger would have made me turn well before my time.”

“He’s always been so—” Ecco searches for a word that is more complimentary than it is insulting. “Strong-willed, then?” She hadn’t been around to see it, but Jeremiah had told her—multiple times, sometimes kind of breathlessly and with a spark of something that had made Ecco think, _a-ha_ , in his eyes—about what Bruce had said about standing up to fear during their first meeting.

“Weird,” is what Selina offers instead. 

At the same time Alfred comments, “Stubborn.”

They share a look that seems to agree with the other’s statement. 

“He seems very level-headed,” or at least he had whenever Ecco spoke with or saw him. The only times he wasn’t level-headed was when both he and Jeremiah were being particularly ridiculous. “Was he wild when he was younger?” She almost can’t conceive such a notion.

“I wouldn’t say wild,” Selina drawls. “He’s just always been really different, even as a kid. You probably haven’t seen much of it yet because you’ve mostly seen him around Jeremiah, and I bet he always used to be on his best behavior around Jeremiah. He’s starting to loosen up a little now that he knows it’s a sure thing, right Alfred?” She looks up at him with a teasing smile. 

“A surer thing never did exist, I’m certain,” he says before drawing back. “I’ll let the gentlemen know you’ve arrived. They get a bit—” His face does something interesting that leaves Selina holding a hand over her smiling mouth, as if she’s biting back laughter. “—caught up in each other. Wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t notice the doorbell ring or the passing of time. Ladies,” he nods a brief farewell, and then he leaves the room. 

Ecco wonders, brief and entertained, if Alfred has thought of Bruce in a similar way that she has thought of Jeremiah—where one mention of matrimony was going to be enough for thoughts of proposals to start racing through his head despite the short amount of time he and Jeremiah had actually been in a romantic relationship. 

“I bet they’re going to be disgustingly cute,” Selina says, reaching into the center of the table to grab a pitcher of orange juice. “Just like they were during movie night. You’d think that they’d get sick of cuddling after a few hours.”

“Let them enjoy it. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

Light. Hope. Joy.

But the possibility of harm was something that Ecco could not ignore.

“We’ll be there,” Selina offers, sipping at her orange juice. “And Alfred, and Detective Gordon. If anyone tries something they’re going to find themselves in a world of trouble.” She smirks, eyes flashing. “I’ll turn their faces into a damn scratching post, if I have to.” There’s nothing joking about her voice as she adds, “I’ll go for their eyes, first.”

“I’m so glad we became friends,” Ecco tells her, not quite able to keep it in. Selina blinks, somewhat startled, before her smirk turns into something gentler.

“Same here,” she says.

And then Bruce and Jeremiah finally step inside the room, holding hands.

Ecco is not at all surprised.

Brunch today, and tomorrow…

Well, they’d deal with whatever might happen tomorrow whenever it happened, if it happened. It was very good to know that, whatever dark forces might target her friends, Ecco didn’t have to worry about defending them on her own. 

She thinks—as she watches Bruce and Jeremiah dote on each other, as she and Selina tease them, as they all come together with Alfred not far beyond; such a watchful and steady presence that Ecco feels like she can relax because he surely would not let anything happen—that maybe this is more than friends.

Maybe this is family.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has gone through a lot in his eighteen years on the planet. It’s difficult for Jeremiah to come to grips with the amount of times Bruce could have been killed before they even met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ecco and Bruce interaction!!! Selina and Jeremiah interaction!!!
> 
> Very vague allusions to Bruce letting Ecco (and lbr, Selina already knows she's known Bruce since he was a child) in on his past/plans for the future which may, y'know, involve a mask.

“Ecco.”

She turns at the sound of her name, somewhat surprised to see Bruce out in the Gotham streets as opposed to either Wayne Manor or Jeremiah’s bunker. She knows, of course, that he can’t be confined to one of those two spaces all the time, just as she’d known that her morning errands would be taking her close to Wayne Enterprises, but she hadn’t entertained the idea of running into him by chance.

“Bruce,” she greets, eyes homing in on him immediately. There are shadows under his eyes. It makes her skin prick. “What brings you out into the city today?”

“I have another meeting today at noon,” Bruce tells her, sounding as if he’s holding back a frustrated sigh. “Even though the generators in The Narrows are being met with a lot of satisfaction there are a lot of infrastructure changes that need to be done as we spread more throughout the city, and there’s still a lot of push-back from people and companies who are going to start losing money. It’s going slower than I wanted.”

“But you’ve started, and the citizens support you.”

“Yes.” Bruce smiles, then, though it appears to be a small and fragile sort of thing. “I just wish certain parties weren’t so resistive of change, especially when it just feels so obvious that the change taking place is for the better.”

“People fear what they do not know and, unfortunate as it may be, greed has been a defining factor in how this city has been run for years.” She takes a closer look at him; the furrow of his eyebrows, the thin line of his mouth, the pallor of his skin which made the shadows under his eyes that much more noticeable. 

He looks as if he hadn’t had a good sleep last night, but Ecco knows that Jeremiah had stayed over and she’s pretty sure even if they’d been up all night doing whatever it was that they did—whispering sweet nothings to each other, kissing, possibly making use of the condoms that Ecco had at long last resolutely slipped into Jeremiah’s overnight bag—he wouldn’t appear this worn out. Frankly she’d expect him to be _glowing_ if that were the case. 

“You’re several blocks off course,” she observes before glancing down at her watch. “And you’ve got more than an hour until your meeting actually starts.”

“I’ve been a little stressed,” he admits slowly, as if it pains him to do so. “I thought a walk around the city might help.”

“And has it?”

“Not really, no.”

“Join me for coffee, then,” she offers. Her errands could afford to be put on hold. “I’ll buy.”

Bruce’s expression gains a curiously bewildered edge, just for a second, before he agrees. He follows silently beside her as she backtracks, past corporate skyscrapers and upscale eateries, to the small coffee shop she visits when errands take her to this side of town. She hasn’t been here often in the past few months—the fact that Jeremiah technically no longer needed a proxy while he finished up his contract with Meyer and Hayes kept her from slipping into the business district with the same frequency as she used to—but the interior is completely unchanged from the last time she was in, and she already knows her order as she approaches the till.

She knows Bruce’s order—for coffee, anyways—too, but she lets him say it to her so that they can both pretend that she hadn’t begun memorizing things about him ever since that night where they were both settled on either side of Jeremiah while waiting for news about a treacherously planted false-gift. She orders them both a danish, too, because Bruce looks like he needs more energy for his meeting ahead than a black coffee will provide, and she knows that he’s the sort of person who would insist that he was fine if Ecco only bought one. 

Ecco opens her phone to discreetly send off a quick text as their coffees are prepared, and after a minute or two they settle into a dimly lit corner on uneven, mismatched chairs. It’s a little humble for this part of town, but that’s honestly why Ecco likes it. Genuine, family run shops were hard to find in the business district, and when she was running errands as Jeremiah’s proxy she was spending too much time around people in bespoke suits as it was.

“So,” she begins calmly, “is there anything else you’ve been brooding over lately?” She brings her mug up to her lips to blow at the steam. “You don’t look particularly well.”

“Thanks, Ecco,” Bruce responds wryly.

“If you need to speak to someone.” She gestures to herself. “I am available.”

Bruce looks at her, and for a few moments Ecco thinks that he’s going to keep silent, but then he folds with a gentle sigh. 

“Lately I’ve been thinking about my—” His face briefly twists. “Credentials,” the word rolls uneasily out of his mouth, as if it isn’t the one that best suits what he’s feeling. “I’ve been thinking about University.”

A big step for someone who had been home-schooled since childhood, and perhaps brought on by how much work was required of him in the behind-the-scenes of the generators. But not quite significant enough for him to be appearing so glum.

“What else?” Ecco prompts. “I can’t imagine that you and Jeremiah would have had a disagreement over that.”

“What?” Bruce blinks, sending her a particularly incredulous look. “No, Jeremiah is very supportive. I’ve just been…” He trails off, sighs, looks down at his hands. “I’ve been telling Jeremiah things about myself lately, things that very few people know. I try to go slowly, because—because there’s a lot, and I don’t want to overwhelm him. Last night we got to talking, and he asked me something directly, and I answered him honestly.”

“And he was upset?”

“Not at me,” Bruce murmurs. “Just at the situations that I’ve been through. You might be able to guess that I haven’t had the most traditional or sheltered upbringing, even if you don’t take into account how my parents—how they—”

Ecco reaches forward to lay a hand over top of his own. Bruce goes still.

“I can guess,” she answers, allowing a little softness to creep into her tone. “And I can guess why speaking about that sort of thing made Jeremiah upset, even if he’s the one who wanted to know all the details. He loves you, and he wants more than anything for you to be safe.”

“I know.”

“I think that occasionally he imagines—even if it’s absurd, all things considered—that if you two had somehow managed to cross paths earlier he would have been able to protect you from some of the ordeals that you’ve undergone.”

Bruce’s lips quirk.

“That does sound like him, doesn’t it?”

Ecco pats the back of his hand before withdrawing to her side of the table.

“He’s very protective of you, Bruce, and very eager to prove his worth. Even though you two are already together it sometimes seems as though he’s trying to _court_ you. It’s all very entertaining.” She sips at her coffee as Bruce sputters. “He stayed over last night, didn’t he? How was he this morning?”

“Subdued.” Bruce’s eyes turn down to his coffee. “It makes me feel… Conflicted, I guess. I want to be honest with him, but I hate that so many truths of my life are grim.”

“You want to protect him from your past.”

“I suppose.”

Ecco nods, decisively. “You’re both ridiculous. Incredibly intelligent, but ridiculous. You can’t change the past.” Hadn’t she told this to Jeremiah, months and months ago? “Together you’re changing the course of the future. There might be a lot of ugly truths in your life, but there are going to be just as many reasons to celebrate.” 

Bruce’s eyes flicker up at her, almost-timid. “You think so?”

Ridiculous. Ecco feels a familiar stab of fondness.

“I know so. Now, drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

“Thank you, Ecco.” Bruce takes the cup into his hands. His expression is pensive. “There’s something else that I’ve been considering, lately.”

Unsurprising. He and Jeremiah were both such _internalizers_ , losing themselves in trails of thought. It’s nothing short of a miracle that they managed to both find each other _and_ actually admit their feelings to each other.

“Will you come over for dinner tonight?” He asks, seemingly out of the blue. Invitations from Bruce usually came days in advance so he must have, right in this moment, made his mind up about something.

“Of course.”

They drink, and they eat, and Bruce is perfectly polite as he thanks Ecco for both her time and her conversation. He still looks rougher around the edges than he should be, but his smile isn’t as frail as it had been earlier.

“I’ll see you tonight at six,” he reminds. “Thank you again for the coffee.”

“It was no problem,” Ecco says, watching him go. 

Her mind whirls with thoughts of what tonight will bring.

x-x-x

Usually he doesn’t enter the office unless he’s with Bruce, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself after Bruce had left the manor this morning. He had meant to eventually make his way home, get some more of his work for Meyer and Hayes done before his contract with them expired, and then catch up with Bruce later; but he couldn’t quite find it within himself to leave.

He looks down at the immaculately organized desk before him, and he wishes he knew how to deal with answers to questions that he’d been the one who asked in the first place.

A noise startles him and his gaze darts up quickly, heart in his throat as he reaches for a pen as if _that_ would be enough to defend himself against robbers or murderers or Maniax—

“Woah,” Selina steps in from behind a curtain, hands lazily raising in the universal gesture of surrender as she eyes the pen in his hand with pointed amusement. “Just me.”

Jeremiah drops the pen with a sigh.

“Does nobody lock windows anymore?”

He thought Bruce was trying to make the manor safer. After their conversation last night Jeremiah really, really wanted the manor to be _safer_. This was a rather glaring security flaw, in his not-so-humble opinion.

“Bruce does lock them at night, nowadays. He used to leave them unlocked all the time when we were kids,” she responds evenly. “Also, I’m getting _real_ good at picking locks, so I guess you could start locking them during the day, too, since it’ll give me some more to practice on.” 

“I’m… Not entirely sure you should go around telling people that,” he offers stiltedly, but Selina snorts at him. “If you’re looking for Bruce, he isn’t here.”

Stars above, Jeremiah wishes that Bruce were here.

“I know.” Selina starts walking towards him. “Ecco texted me that Bruce was moping, asked if I’d check up on you and report back to her if I happened to be in the area.”

“Moping?” Jeremiah’s hands twist together. “Why?”

“Sort of was hoping you’d be the one with the answer to that, dude,” she says, leaning her hip against the desk and crossing her arms. Her head tilts to the side as she looks down at him, sharp eyes probably seeing far too much on Jeremiah’s face. “You’re moping too. You okay?”

“I’m… Not entirely fine,” Jeremiah admits with a sigh. “But I’m not the one who’s nearly been killed several times over by multiple different people.”

“… Ah.”

“Yes, _ah._ ” Jeremiah would bury his head in his hands, but… Selina was Bruce’s oldest friend, and she hadn’t appeared at all shocked by what Jeremiah had said. He looks up at her, gaze assessing. She cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“He’s been telling me, lately, some of the things that the general public don’t know about him.”

“Good. That kid needs someone else to confide in.”

“Could you please not call my boyfriend a ‘kid’? He’s eighteen years old.”

“Sorry.” Selina shrugs, not sounding apologetic in the least. “Habit.” She makes a rolling gesture with her wrist, as if prompting Jeremiah to continue. It’s not quite the same level of attentiveness as he’s used to—Ecco and Bruce were very patient, excellent listeners—but he’s honestly a little startled that Selina is willing to listen to him at all, text from Ecco or otherwise, and she is perhaps the best person to speak about this to, other than Bruce and Alfred.

But Bruce isn’t home.

And Jeremiah’s not even sure how he’d start this sort of conversation with Alfred.

“It’s just difficult for me to process that he’s been through so much.” Perhaps it’s just him overdramatizing what Bruce had told him, but he’s beginning to think that it was nothing short of a miracle that Bruce didn’t meet his end long before they met. “And it hurts to know that he’s suffered so many times, occasionally at the hands of people who he trusted.” It makes Jeremiah feel sick. “It makes me wish that I could have changed things, somehow.”

Although, considering how he had been back then, he probably wouldn’t have cared enough to do anything. That makes Jeremiah feel sick, too, thinking about the depths of his indifference. 

“You can’t change the past,” Selina tells him bluntly. In the moment she reminds him so much of Ecco, though her delivery is far more curt, that it shocks him out of the dark pull of his thoughts. “You weren’t there for him back then, but you are here for him now. That matters a lot to him.”

“You were there for him, back then.”

Selina gets a funny look on her face.

“You’re not going to thank me for keeping him safe for you or something, are you?”

“No, no. It’s just. I’m glad that he’s had people looking out for him. You, Alfred, Detective Gordon. I dread to think of what might have happened if he had been alone.”

“Well, he wasn’t. And he’s not alone now, either.” She says it with a brusque air, but from what Jeremiah’s seen of her this is just how she tends to be, even when she’s attempting kindness. “So, I dunno, maybe try to stop agonizing over things you have control over?” She runs a hand through her hair, looking uncomfortable for the first time since she walked in. “I’m not much for pep-talk,” she admits, “so this is about as good as you’re going to get from me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of the shit Bruce has been through, so if you want to rant about how unfair life can be without having to say it to him—because you’ll both end up sad and then no one’s going to be happy—I guess you can rant to me about it.”

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t.” Her eyes flash. She’s joking with him, he realizes belatedly. “I’ve got a reputation I need to uphold.”

“My lips are sealed,” he vows. He can’t quite bring himself to smile, but he does feel a little better.

He’ll be much better once Bruce is back home, though.

x-x-x

Bruce very slowly opens the office door and, yes, just as Alfred had told him, Jeremiah is sitting at the desk looking incredibly morose.

“I’m home,” he calls from the door, and Jeremiah’s eyes snap onto him. “I’m safe,” he adds, although he usually wouldn’t bother, because he thinks that maybe that’s something that Jeremiah needs to hear right now.

Jeremiah scrambles out of the chair and rushes towards him. In the span of five seconds Bruce is wrapped up tightly in Jeremiah’s arms and it doesn’t seem as if Jeremiah will be willing to let go any time soon.

“I’m glad,” Jeremiah says under his breath.

Bruce tucks his face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck and holds him back just as tight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While out looking for a gift for Jeremiah’s birthday Bruce discovers that the Gotham Gazette has given Jeremiah and himself a couple name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow I actually have an end goal in mind for this fic, what a world.

Bruce is out trying to find a gift for Jeremiah’s upcoming birthday—the pair of champagne flutes that he’d once mentioned were a must, of course. Bruce hadn’t forgotten about them, but he wanted to offer something more, too—accompanied by Selina and Ecco, who offer insight in their own ways.

By which Bruce means that they essentially told him that Jeremiah would be perfectly content if he merely slapped a bow upon himself and called it a day. 

“That would be cheating,” he’d said in steady response to their bluntly offered opinion. “He already has me.”

Ecco’s lips had twitched in a smile and Selina rolled her eyes, but they’d stuck around him anyways with the promise that they’d mention if anything stood out to them.

Price isn’t as important as sentiment, so instead of strolling in and out of niche boutiques to look for things that Jeremiah would undoubtedly purchase for himself they wander through Gotham’s biggest mall, steadily not paying attention to the somewhat incredulous looks being thrown their way when someone does a double-take after they realize that Bruce is exactly who he looks like. 

They pass by a kiosk with newspapers stacked along the sides, and Selina stops for a moment before nudging at him with her elbow. 

“Hey, looks like you guys made the front page again. They’ve even given you a couple name.”

Bruce and Ecco both glance towards where she’s pointing. 

‘Visionaries: Gotham’s Clean-Power Couple’, the headline reads, and beneath it is a candid shot from the previous month featuring Bruce and Jeremiah standing in front of the last generator to go live, holding hands. 

Ecco laughs under her breath, and Bruce cocks his head to the side inquisitively.

“Are we a power couple,” he muses aloud. Ecco snorts at the question as she picks up one of the papers to glance the front page over a little more thoroughly. 

“Bruce. Please. You and Jeremiah are the quintessential power couple,” Selina drawls. “Just think about what is going on, right now, because the pair of you teamed up.”

“Gotham hasn’t had this much good news in years,” Ecco says as she heads to the till to make her purchase. “Jeremiah will probably want a copy of this, you know how sentimental he gets, especially when there are articles outlining the work that you’ve been doing together.” The man in the kiosk rings her through, and she turns back to them with a smile. “Selina has a point, you know.” 

Bruce supposes that she does.

Eyes from all around the globe were on Gotham, now; waiting to see what would happen, waiting to see if the generators—which must have at times seemed too good to be true—would fail after months or years of being active. Waiting to see if there were side-effects or draw-backs or if people were going to demand that things go back to how they used to be. Bruce is confident enough, has read enough data and evaluations, _has spoken_ to enough _Gotham citizens_ to know that things are going to go just as planned. And when Gotham’s successes were cemented…

It wouldn’t just be Gotham that started changing. 

“If you two were evil I think the entire world would be shaking in its boots.”

“Selina,” he scolds. She doesn’t know about the Jack in the Box, she doesn’t know about the thing that had almost come to pass, but the what-ifs and worst-case scenarios that her joking comment bring up are nearly enough to make him feel disoriented. 

“What? We’ve just got to be happy that you’ve got strong morals and Jeremiah loves you way too much to even consider going dark-side, is all I’m saying.”

“A truly terrifying thought,” Ecco adds, though she seems distracted by something. Bruce takes a moment to follow her line of sight, but he dismisses her interest as being personal when he sees her staring at a jeweler; the only ornamentation Jeremiah ever wore was tie-pins and cuff-links. His attention turns to Selina again.

“He wouldn’t go ‘dark side’ even if he didn’t love me. He’s a good person.”

“Okay, okay. I’m not actually trying to make a dig at the morals of your boyfriend. I’m just saying Gotham should breathe a collective sigh of relief that you two want to make the city better instead of worse. It’s like the world is evening out the scales, or something. This city has a whole lot of crazy in it, but it’s also got you.” She elbows him fondly, and Bruce can’t help but smile at her. “I mean, you’re already planning something new now that the generators are all up and running, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Bruce says, a smile filtering on his face as he thinks of it. “Jeremiah’s contract with Meyer and Hayes finished up last month, and we’ve spoken to each other a lot about what we want our newest collaborative project to be.” He sighs again, thinking about the steps they’re going to have to go through in order to get approval. “We’ve got a great outline written up, but we’re going to have to win over city council before anything can really start.”

And while Bruce had a certain amount of power within his company which had made the generators possible with only a few snags along the way his age, lack of experience, and current lack of post-secondary education were going to be working against him as he made his proposal.

At least he had the public behind him, although their obvious support occasionally left him feeling a little flustered. In all of his preparations for the generators he hadn’t quite prepared himself for being so… Universally well liked. 

He’s glad that Jeremiah is also getting the recognition that he deserves, though. And maybe now that they’ve collectively become the ‘Clean-Power Couple’ the Gotham Gazette will stop writing articles that refer to him as the ‘Prince of Gotham’.

“And what’s this outline gonna be? What’s you’re opening line?”

Bruce’s gaze darts down, a little self-conscious.

“It’s going to be something that my mother wrote,” he admits softly. “I remember, back when Arkham first opened up, I found something that she had written about it. She wanted it to be a place where people could get better. It never should have been opened, not in the way that it was in any case; quick and reckless. Irresponsible.”

There were so many things that Bruce couldn’t control about Arkham, but if they could begin changing the infrastructure, then maybe better things would follow. It could become safer, more comfortable, and actually _up to code_ because he and Jeremiah both had serious doubts that the place had been properly inspected in any way before it had reopened or in any of the years following. That was, in fact, one of the things that they were banking on.

Because if the actual building had never been inspected, then it was highly unlikely that anyone else had been brought in to ensure the facility was doing what it was meant to do, how it was meant to do it. Safety. Respect. Purposeful activity. Rehabilitation and release planning. None of these expectations for a facility like Arkham were actually being met, and if it got out to the public just how bad Arkham was being run and how that was the main reason behind the multiple breakouts, well…

Things for Gotham were starting to get better. People were allowing themselves to _hope_ again; no one was going to support politicians who were undermining the progress that was being made by allowing Arkham to continue to fester and rot in the way it had been since its doors opened back up.

“You’ve got a bleeding heart, Bruce Wayne,” Selina tells him fondly. “What would Gotham do without you?”

“Perish the thought,” Ecco murmurs under her breath. “There’s a game store up ahead, and I have it on very good authority that a pack of cards can be a wonderful way to while away a few hours. Want to have a look inside? We could make a whole kit of things for you and Jeremiah to do if you ever end up locked inside of somewhere all alone with each other again.”

“Perish the thought,” Bruce echoes back at her, but he smiles. “Let’s go.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea infiltrates his mind even before Bruce’s birthday—the anniversary of the day they first met. Even before Jeremiah’s birthday. Maybe it had been lingering in the back of his mind for a while before he became consciously aware of it. 
> 
> Jeremiah thinks of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

A year of knowing each other comes and goes, and with it more changes than Jeremiah would have ever thought possible.

He is in love, and he _is_ loved. He’s working on projects that he believes in, he’s making the world a better place alongside the person who makes him happy, he has more than one friend that he can confide in, he isn’t afraid of stepping outside. His life is joyously split between two locations; Wayne Manor now just as much of a home to him as his bunker is. Jeremiah cannot even entertain the idea of it ever coming to an end; when he thinks of the future all he can think about is progression. 

Further and further, higher and higher, brighter and brighter. Never alone. Always with the most important person in the world right beside him; giving Jeremiah the courage to continue on and forge ahead bravely all while holding his hand.

Jeremiah had followed Bruce out of the darkness and into the light.

Jeremiah would follow Bruce anywhere. 

He watches Bruce’s sleeping face, idly reaching out to brush a few stray locks of hair behind his ear.

He feels the pull, even now. He’ll never _not_ feel connected to Bruce. Every day that passes just winds them tighter around each other, like it was always meant to happen.

And Jeremiah wants—

Wants it to go on forever. Never ending. He and Bruce together, as they’re meant to be. 

He and Bruce together.

He reaches for Bruce’s hand. He interlocks their fingers. Bruce stirs briefly, but he doesn’t wake.

“I love you,” he says.

I want to marry you, he thinks. 

x-x-x

Ecco doesn’t react past giving a casual greeting when she hears Jeremiah walk into his remodeled kitchen. She puts the groceries up on the counter and opens the cupboards, getting ready to put away the non-perishables.

“Ecco.” Jeremiah’s voice is soft and steady with a curious edge. She glances over her shoulder at him and sees that he’s got a _look_ on his face that she has gradually come to assume just means he’s thinking about how much he’s in love with Bruce Wayne. He has the look every day, often multiple times per day, but it still makes her smile as she turns back to her task at hand. “I have a question for you, based off of the fact that you are more knowledgeable about social norms than me, and I trust you more than I trust the internet.”

“What is it, boss?”

“Is one year of dating enough time to pass before proposing?”

A box of pasta falls from her limp fingers to the floor as she whirls around, hands coming together in front of her widely smiling mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy endings and true love are what Lockdown is all about, babes.
> 
> xoxo

They celebrate their first year together the way that they celebrate so many things; with the people who matter most to them.

Brunch is spent with Ecco and Selina who send subtle, supportive looks in Jeremiah’s direction because they fully expect that by this time tomorrow they will have received a phone call. Jeremiah holds Bruce’s hand under the table almost constantly, and Bruce leans into his side and kisses his cheek so often that Jeremiah is sure that he’s memorized the feel of it, although he never wants for it to end.

Selina actually hugs Jeremiah and bids him a happy anniversary before they depart, and he feels somewhat flabbergasted by it. Bruce laughs softly at his expression and uses their linked hands to tug Jeremiah closer to his side in order to kiss his cheek again.

Lunch is with Alfred, who insists on cooking and won’t take ‘but we could go out so that you don’t have to do any work’ as an answer. They eat in the kitchen and Jeremiah catches Alfred smiling at him once, but otherwise he’s much more reserved than Ecco and Selina’s purposefully muted excitement. Afterwards Jeremiah and Bruce offer to do the dishes, and Alfred only lets them because he has a few final touches to put on the dessert that he’d started.

Before they leave Wayne Manor Bruce and Alfred hug, and Jeremiah can tell that it lingers longer than usual. They whisper something to each other, and when they part Alfred lays his hands firmly upon Bruce’s shoulders and looks him up and down, as if to commit his happy face to memory.

Dinner is an unpretentious affair; made by them side-by-side just like their first meal together. Jeremiah’s kitchen is larger, now—with a wall knocked down to extend into what was once a hallway of the maze, now two dead ends—but they still work so close that their shoulders and elbows constantly brush.

Afterwards Jeremiah takes out his pair of champagne flutes. When he makes a toast to one spectacular, joyous year together he can feel his voice tremble with emotion. When Bruce raises his glass his eyes are bright with gladness.

Jeremiah holds Bruce close in bed that night, mind spinning and heart thrumming. When he does sleep he dreams—blue light, blue light, Bruce in the blue light—and when he wakes up it’s with a feeling of deep contentment. He kisses Bruce’s forehead softly, smiling when he stirs, and he holds Bruce close again until eventually Bruce is awake enough in his arms to turn towards him, tucking his face into Jeremiah’s neck and holding him back.

“Good morning,” Jeremiah greets. “I love you.”

“Good morning,” Bruce echoes sleepily. “I love you.”

They take their time getting up—trading touches and kisses and fond whispers, as always—and when they do eventually leave the bedroom behind Bruce settles down at the small kitchen table and Jeremiah goes about the familiar routine of making coffee. 

With one small—and yet incredibly momentous—exception. 

His hand is shaking when he slips the ring into Bruce’s mug as he stirs in the sugar. 

He’d asked for input—although as soon as it entered his mind he would freely admit that his heart was rather set on the idea—from Ecco, Selina, and Alfred because he’d heard of rings in glasses of wine or champagne or nestled upon the peak of whipped cream on a dessert, but shared cups of morning coffee were just so much more _them_ than any of those options.

The general consensuses had been; that sounds very sweet and sentimental, but also you’re lucky that Bruce drinks his coffee slowly. As if Jeremiah would have given the idea a second thought if there were any possibility that Bruce might accidentally choke on his engagement ring.

He grips onto the handles of the mugs and steels himself before he turns.

Bruce looks up at him and smiles.

Jeremiah wants to share mornings like this with Bruce every morning. 

He walks to Bruce’s side of the table to hand him the mug directly, and he leans down to press a kiss into Bruce’s curls as he does. As soon as he settles into his own chair he reaches across the tabletop and lays his fingers over top of Bruce’s. Bruce’s attention on him sharpens, and he smiles wider as he links their fingers together.

I love you, I love you, I love you, Jeremiah thinks in time to the beating of his heart. I want to make you happy and keep you safe and be with you always. 

They talk about the slow but undeniable progress with Arkham’s infrastructure and the breathtaking fact that soon it will be one year since the first generators in The Narrows went live. They talk about living walls—buildings that burst with life on the surface just as much as in the framework, bringing another splash of green into Gotham—and dropping crime rates and citizens who are learning how to hope for better things after years of expecting the worst. 

And through it all Jeremiah watches like a hawk, his nervous heart thundering in his chest, as each sip of coffee brings Bruce closer to realizing that sugar wasn’t the only thing that Jeremiah had stirred into it. 

Eventually Jeremiah asks questions about Bruce’s online university courses. He’s been so frantically busy making plans—and daydreaming and praying that he’d sized Bruce’s finger correctly that one time he’d managed to wrap a string around the fourth finger of his left hand while Bruce was sleeping—that he hasn’t been as inquisitive as he usually is, even though he loves when Bruce talks to him about his education.

Though, to be fair, he loves when Bruce talks to him about anything. 

“Not much has changed, and my latest assignment hasn’t been graded yet. I feel like I don’t have anything new to say. It makes me feel like a poor conversational partner, repeating things that you already know.”

“I love that we’re together so often that sometimes our conversations have a chance to repeat,” Jeremiah tells him, utterly genuine, and Bruce’s grip on his fingers tighten. “To replicate a conversation with you is to relive a moment with you, and nothing in the world makes me as happy as our moments together.”

“Miah,” Bruce’s voice is soft, emotional. “You make me so happy. I love you so much.”

Even now, a year later, those words light Jeremiah up on the inside.

“I love you too, Bruce. More than anything.”

And he’ll never get sick of saying it just much as he’ll never get sick of hearing it. 

Speaking of repeating conversations makes this moment, laid out before Jeremiah and eagerly waiting for him to make the first move, feel like destiny. Jeremiah can see into Bruce’s mug from across the small table; he has a few sips left, the volume of coffee is probably barely enough to conceal the glint of metal or dull the sound of it moving around. He wants this to be romantic and a surprise, which means he wants Bruce to not catch a glimpse of it and fish it out with his fingers before Jeremiah has a chance to get started. 

“Bruce.” He squeezes Bruce’s fingers before withdrawing his hand. “I would make you coffee every day.”

Bruce flushes and smiles at him, so obviously pleased that it makes Jeremiah feel euphoric, likely remembering the first and the second time that Jeremiah had told him those exact words, just over a year ago, now. Bruce has always been utterly radiant in his happiness, and Jeremiah wants to give him reasons to be happy all the time. 

“I would let you,” Bruce answers after a few moments.

I hope you will, Jeremiah thinks, feeling that same fluttering optimism that he had last year when he’d begun to think that maybe he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

Please, maybe…

Please…

He watches Bruce bring the mug up to his lips, he watches him upend it, he watches Bruce go still, startling at the feeling of something solid coming into contact with his mouth.

He moves out of his chair and onto the floor, staring up at the love of his life on bended knee. 

x-x-x

“Bruce, I would make you coffee every day.”

Bruce feels his smile widen, memories of the first time Jeremiah had said that to him bringing up happy, nostalgic feelings which leave him fluttery and warm. The first time he’d heard it, before they were aware of each other’s feelings, he’d felt hope and longing in equal measure. The second time he’d heard it, he’d had an answer. 

“I would let you,” he echoes his own words from a year and one day ago. It’s just as true then as it is now; to spend every morning together like this would bring him nothing but the deepest elation. 

Jeremiah’s gaze is incredibly soft and incredibly open, and Bruce is rapturous to be the recipient of such an expression even though he’s already experienced a full year of being looked at in such a way. He’s certain that he’ll never be completely composed under the weight and intensity of Jeremiah’s candid regard. 

He lifts up his coffee, planning to down the rest in one go and then maybe bombard Jeremiah with kisses before they carry on with their day. He brings the mug to his lips and swallows once, twice, and then—

He feels something brush against his mouth on the last sip. He drops the mug away from his face and his eyebrows furrow as his gaze lowers to look into it. 

He sees—

He sees—

He stops breathing for a moment as he stares at the absolutely unmistakable shape of a ring sitting at the bottom of his coffee mug. His eyes snap up, but Jeremiah isn’t sitting across from him anymore and he spots a familiar shock of red hair in the bottom corner of his vision. When his gaze darts over to settle upon Jeremiah—knelt before him in a way that is just as distinctive in its purpose as the ring’s—Bruce inhales a shaking breath through his teeth as his heart immediately starts to race.

“Bruce,” Jeremiah begins, capturing Bruce’s attention so wholly that the entire world drops away. He reaches out and takes Bruce’s free hand in his own and Bruce’s mind is spinning at the gentle touch and the sight of Jeremiah bent down on one knee and the fact that there is a _ring in his coffee mug._

“I love you more than I could ever express only with words. I love you more than I could even express with actions.” His voice is trembling, and Bruce feels so struck by him that nothing could make him look away. “Being able to do all of the little things for you, with you, every day would make me the happiest man on earth. I love you, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

Bruce can feel himself start to shake. Bruce can feel tears start to build up in his eyes. Bruce’s white-knuckled grip on the handle of the coffee mug loosens and it drops against the tabletop. Bruce grips Jeremiah’s hand tightly and knows, even before Jeremiah has asked, what his answer is going to be. 

“Bruce.” Jeremiah’s voice is a loving, devoted whisper, and Bruce’s heart lurches at the fondness that he can hear in the particular way that Jeremiah utters his name. “Will you marry me?”

Bruce lunges forward, dropping from the chair and onto his knees. One hand continues to clasp Jeremiah tightly, the other reaches up to lay amorously upon his cheek.

“Yes,” he breathes, heart soaring as Jeremiah begins to smile. “Yes, yes,” he repeats, hand dragging from Jeremiah’s cheek to rest in his hair, guiding him close to press their foreheads together. “Of course I’ll marry you, Jeremiah, I—” His breath hitches with emotion. “I love you, I want to be with you always.”

An arm wraps around him, a hand presses against the small of his back, and Jeremiah tilts his head to kiss him and Bruce smiles wide against Jeremiah’s mouth as his cheeks become damp. Their fingers unwind from each other, but only so that Jeremiah can reach up to the table and fumble around blindly for the mug, and Bruce finds himself laughing as his newly freed hand cups Jeremiah’s cheek, his thumb tracing along a wet, linear path that runs from the corner of Jeremiah’s smile and all the way up to disappear behind his glasses. 

“I love you, Bruce,” Jeremiah murmurs against his mouth before he pulls back, flipping the mug so that the ring slides into his waiting palm. Jeremiah hurriedly wipes the remaining traces of coffee off on his sleep shirt. 

Jeremiah holds out a hand, and Bruce slips his own into it. The ring is still warm as it slides onto Bruce’s finger—a perfect fit—and Bruce wouldn’t change a single thing about any of this. 

“I love you so much, so much.” Bruce tucks his face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck, eyes still stinging with joy. “The happiest that I have ever been in my life has been when I’m with you, Miah.” He presses desperate kisses against Jeremiah’s face until the roiling feelings within his chest begin to settle to an excited undercurrent.

When he pulls back they both take a long moment to look at the band on his finger; perhaps to reassure themselves that this wasn’t a dream. When they look up at each other their destiny side by side once again clicks into place.

Bruce lifts his left hand to Jeremiah’s face, enamoured, and Jeremiah eagerly leans into his touch. Nothing has felt as right as this moment, kneeling together on Jeremiah’s kitchen floor and collectively reeling with a happiness that neither of them would have ever expected that they were capable of before their paths crossed. 

“You were always a little bit ahead of me when it comes to these things,” Bruce tells him softly, running his hands through Jeremiah’s hair and leaning up on his knees to press a kiss to his cheek. “I was going to ask on the one-year anniversary of the generators in The Narrows going live. When we go back to Wayne Manor today will you do me the honor of allowing me to put your ring on you?”

Jeremiah laughs, breathless with delight and love.

“Of course.”

They kiss again.


End file.
